Hey guys, sorry for the long break in updating. We sold our house quicker than we expected and had to do a mad dash in finding a new one to move into, packing, and getting set up. I do want to say that I am overwhelmed with the amount of people leaving messages, reviews, and favoring my story. You guys are amazing! I was nervous writing this because I have never written a story before (which might be evident in my many grammatical errors) but thank you for sticking with me.

FirePhoenixxd- Thank you! I hope I can continue to live up to your expectations.

Purple-Pygmy-Puff16- Love your name and I promise to update more often.

Filmstar xXx- I hope you like what I have planned for Shane next chapter.

Sakura1607- Thank you for the amazing review. I love a strong female character but I hate when you have school teachers that suddenly become Rambo within a month of an apocalypse. I definitely see Mel getting stronger but she has a lot to work through and Daryl is just the person to help her. As far as him not saying her name, good catch by the way, I wasn't sure if readers would catch on but it's my way of showing that he isn't ready to get close to anyone yet. He obviously cares for people but still has things to work through himself. Hey! Maybe Mel can help him with that.

Rose Scarsz Cruz- I want to keep it believable and obviously look forward to advancing their relationship but it might be a slow burn. I want realistic and I hope I am putting that on the page. Thank you for being a loyal reader and I hope I don't disappoint.

Chapter 6

Daryl's POV

I'm frustrated at not being able to do shit and it's driving me insane. For the third time, I stand up and start to walk into the woods before I stop. Hell, I have even thought about breaking something on Merle's bike so I have an excuse to work on it.

I just need to do something to get my mind off of what I heard and saw but at the same time I don't want to leave her alone.

Her emotions are easy to read most, if not all of the time. She never tries to hide them. It's one of the things I like about her. That she doesn't feel the need to put on a poker face. Unlike most people there are no ulterior motives when it comes to her. What you see is what you get which is a rare thing to find among the human race.

However, she did manage to surprise me when she unleashed her fury on Dale like he was the physical embodiment of the room she destroyed not that long ago. Anger is to be expected from her after everything she has gone through and I can handle a pissed off girl who has a reason to be pissed off. That's not the problem. It is the other side of her that I saw that is bothering me. Behind that anger was a pain so real it was almost tangible.

I can distract her from her it but I can't do anything to stop her pain.

I wanted and still want to kick Dales ass for making her upset to the point that she finally spoke for the first time about what happened to her. She didn't go into graphic detail but what she said made my blood feel hot under my skin. Just thinking about it now makes me want to save Rick the trouble and put a bullet in Randall's head myself. The only thing stopping me is that I would have to leave her to go do that and something is telling me to stay.

What is wrong with me? I'm making decisions off of someone I don't know from Adam. I need to reel it in. I should not be caring as much as I do about her. There's absolutely no reason for it. Seems like it would be a smart idea to start putting some distance between myself and the girl I tell myself. I've learned the hard way that there is only one outcome when you get too invested in another person.

Disappointment. And I've had more than enough fill of disappointment in this lifetime.

Just look where all of that pointless caring got me with Sophia and Carol. It changed nothing -Sophia is dead and Carol lost her daughter. I couldn't afford to care in the world before and I sure as hell can't afford to care in this new world.

I stand up with every intention to start heading toward the farmhouse but only make it a few steps before I stop and look back at the tent.

Why is she being so quiet? I expected to hear humming, singing, or her reading out loud but there hasn't been a peep from her since she zipped up the tent. I'd actually welcome the sound of her crying at this point just so I know she is alright.

Maybe I should check on her? I move toward the tent but stop again. Distance, I remind myself. I need to put distance before one or both of us end up disappointing the other. It'll probably be me doing the disappointing. I start back toward the farmhouse where the others should be gathering soon for the vote.

I make it three steps before I stop.

God dammit!

Mel's POV

It's really hard to ignore the rest of the world when I keep seeing Daryl's darkened outline pace back and forth on the side of the tent. I'm not really in the mood to talk to anyone, not after my verbal confirmation of rape.

I sigh and close my eyes. There is no more pretending it didn't happen now.

I'm tempted to roll over in another failed attempt to ignore the world that's on the other side of these four thin walls but that wouldn't be fair to Daryl. Besides, I feel like he is the type of person who would be willing to ignore everything I said. Actually, he would probably be relieved if I act like nothing happened with Dale.

Yeah. I think it is safe to say that he is definitely not the Dr. Phil type whose big on emotions. I'm a hundred percent okay with that. Getting a second chance to wrap myself in a cocoon of denial sounds pretty good.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I sit up and open the tent. Immediately I'm met with a wave of cool air that send goose pimples (my sister's term) up my arms. It's almost completely dark now and only a few lights from the farm house seem to be lighting up the night. The house almost looks like a beacon signaling safety. And it would probably be just that if I didn't know any better about what was going on down there.

I hate to admit it but what Dale said to me has been replaying in my head and it is bothering me. The outcome of someone's life was about to be decided on and I honestly wasn't sure if I cared what the final decision was going to be. Was I a terrible person for not caring if another human being lived or died?

Ugh. I'm not emotionally stable enough to figure out moral dilemmas right now. I'll just add it to my growing list of other internal problems I need to work out.

Out of nowhere Daryl walks into my field of vision causing me to jump. I was so caught up in staring at that stupid house that I zoned out. He continues to bite his nail and I want so badly to slap his hand out of his mouth. It's gross. His hands are dirty and I shudder just thinking about what he is chewing on.

"Need something?" his voice is gravelly and only made more so when it breaks the quiet surrounding us.

"Nope." I respond and move toward my designated log "I just wanted some air."

He takes a seat across from me but neither of us say anything. Silence doesn't bother me. In fact, we usually settle into a comfortable silence together. On a normal night, he would start sharpening sticks or skin whatever he killed today and I would productively poke at the fire.

That's not happening and for the first time the silence is awkward. It is hanging heavy in the air between us and when he scrubs his hands over his face before standing up I know he feels it to.

As soon as I realize it, my heart sinks until it sits like a rock in the bottom of my stomach. I had hoped that nothing would change. That we could pretend I didn't say anything but that is not the case. It's pretty obvious that he isn't sure what to do or how to act around me now.

I don't want anyone's pity. Especially Daryl's. I don't want him to act or treat me any different than he did before. He made me feel normal. I can't lose that.

The thought of being treated like an outcast or having everyone walk on eggshells around me makes me physically sick. It would just be a constant reminder that what happened to me changed me as a person. Somehow making me less of a human in others eyes.

I. AM. STILL. ME.

That one vile act didn't change who I am and it sure as hell isn't going to define me in the future. I refuse to be the girl that hears whispers of, "There's that poor girl. It really is a shame what happened to her.", said as I walk by.

"Please don't." the words tumble past my lips before I realize I am saying them. He stops lining up the piece of wood he is about to chop and looks at me. A questioning look. "Please don't treat me different."

My voice is steady. To my own ears, I manage not to sound like I am begging. Of course, I'm not opposed to begging if it comes to that but that will be a last-ditch effort. Not to mention it would undermine the message I am trying to send. Besides, I think my eyes are doing enough pleading on their own. This is important to me.

I watch his face as we stare at each other. He has a face I could study forever and never learn anything new from. It's the same face he always wears and just like every other time I look at him, I have no clue what is going on inside his head. It hasn't escaped my notice that I have never seen him with a full-on smile or heard him laugh. Not that the world today has much to laugh or smile about these days but his face is always completely unreadable.

I want to turn away and look anywhere else. The way he looks at me, it's as if he's reading my soul. It's too intense. I'm about to be the first to break in our impromptu staring contest when all of a sudden, his eyes seem to harden and then he nods.

I am probably reading too much into it but I think that look of hardness was any pity he felt toward me disappearing. Then with a single nod I finally breathe a sigh of relief.

We hold our gaze a second longer before he straightens and continues to talk like I didn't just bare my soul to him, "Thinking 'bout goin down to the house. Beth will be there if ya want."

"I think I am going to stay here. Not really in a social mood." Plus, weighing the pros and cons of killing someone isn't exactly the type of social gathering I want to be a part of. "But you should go." I add on before he feels obligated to stay with me.

He is thinking about staying with me. I can see it on his face but it doesn't take long before it is gone. Good.

"Besides, I have a big night planned. First, I am going to build a fire." I announce in an attempt to act normal. "Then I am going to try and cook dinner."

I catch an actual grimace on his face when he hears I plan on cooking. It's nice to have a running joke with him. Even if it is at my expense.

"Already ate." Daryl says as he slings his crossbow over his shoulder then starts down the hill. I know he is lying because he would have saved some food for me, he always does, but I still find myself smiling as I bend over to pick up some wood.

Normal. Normal is good.

Daryl's POV

Dale had until sundown to convince whoever he could to vote his way. I look around the room. The gangs all here but no one is talking. We could start but my guess is everyone has already made up their mind and what we are going to decide is best left for when the sun fully goes down.

Judging by Dale's face I don't think he was able to sway a lot of people in his favor.

While everyone keeps twiddling their thumbs waiting for Rick to kick off the party I move further into the room. It doesn't pass my own eyes that I am physically putting space between myself and the others but I've never been one to psychoanalyze. Plus, my new spot in the back of the room is closest to the door and near a window. I pull the lacey curtain back and see the tent and the soft glow of a fire further up the hill. At least she hasn't started a forest fire or anything.

With little light in the sky left, Rick is the one who breaks the tension by moving to the center of the parlor. The setting makes this especially weird. Lace doilies, family photos, and fresh cut flowers is not really setting the scene. Then again, I guess the only setting execution talk really fits is a dilapidated house or the back room of a mobster's deli.

"We all know why we are here, so let's see where everybody stands." Rick's words are the first ones I have heard since walking into the house.

"The way I see it, there is only one way to go forward." Shane says from the other side of the room.

"Let's not beat around the bush here." Dale takes off his hat and steps forward "If we are going to be voting on this then I think we should voice what we are doing. We are voting to either kill a man or spare his life. I for one think that if someone is voting to kill him then they should at least be able to say the words because no one has said them."

"I'll say it Dale." Shane raises his voice and looks around the room. Meeting the eyes of everyone else. "If it comes down to any of us or that complete stranger out there. A stranger, I might remind you, that has already shot at our people and has Mel-"

"-Keep her out of this." I push off the wall and interrupt the asshole. I know damn well he doesn't give a rat's ass about her and there is no way in hell she is going to be used as a chess piece. Shane does nothing more than look at me while raising his voice as he keeps talking. Prick.

"-going into hysterics just by looking at him. I'm going to choose us. Every time. So yeah, I'm okay with killing him if it keeps us safe. That includes keeping you safe Dale."

"The rest of you?" Dale tries to sway everyone else standing around since Shane has clearly decided. "This kid might be an asset to us, we don't know. Just because he wasn't with us from the beginning doesn't mean he can't become one of us."

"What is your solution Dale?"

"Give him a chance."

"To do what? To help farm the land? Milk some cows?" Shane continues to argue with Dale. "Look, say we give him a chance. Let him join us, right?" Shane rubs his hand over his head "Maybe he's helpful, maybe he's nice. We let our guard down and maybe he runs off, brings back his 30 men."

"Are you seriously justifying killing a man to prevent a future crime that he may not attempt?"

"If you go through with it, how would you do it? Would he suffer?" Patricia speaks up.

"We could hang him, right? Just snap his neck."

"I thought about that. Shooting may be more humane."

I almost scoff at Rick's concern over being humane. The kid is being tied up in a barn and beaten but God forbid we treat him inhumanely when we kill him.

"-And what about the body? - Do we bury him?" The others start shooting off questions. Like any of them matter. The end result is still the same.

"So, it's already decided then?" I watch Dale wring the hat in his hands "This is a young man's life, and apparently, all it is worth is a five-minute conversation! Is this what it's come to? We kill someone because we can't decide what else to do with him? You saved him and now look at us. He's been tortured. He's going to be executed. How are we any better than those people that we're so afraid of?"

The barrage of questions stop while Dale's words sink in.

"Anybody who wants the floor before we make a final decision has the chance."

The room stays quiet but a few of them sit down. There is nothing for me to say. I'll go along with whatever the others want but if the kid is granted some miracle and does get to live. My eyes will be on him. Waiting for him to fuck up.

"You once said that we don't kill the living." Dale tries one last time to get Rick to see to the same reasoning he has.

"Well, that was before the living tried to kill us."

"But don't you see? If we do this, the people that we were- the world that we knew is dead. And this new world is ugly. It's Harsh. It's- it's survival of the fittest. And that's a world I don't wanna live in, and I don't- And I don't believe that any of you do. I can't. Please. Let's just do what's right. Isn't there anybody else who's gonna stand with me?"

The room stays quiet until someone speaks up.

"He's right. We should try to find another way." It's Andrea. Which surprises me. She seems so damn eager to shoot anything that gets within five yards of the farm. Figured this would be right up her alley.

"Anybody else?" Rick asks and looks around the room. The continued silence is enough of an answer. Even I can't look at Dale right now. He is crying. I know why he is trying so hard. He wants to save us from ourselves, trying to stop us from doing something we can't come back from. What he doesn't know is that most of us are already past that point.

"Are y'all gonna watch, too? No, you'll go hide your heads in your tents and try to forget that we're slaughtering a human being. I won't be a party to it. My conscience is clean."

My eyes can't seem to meet Dale's as he walks toward the door. Then a hand lands on my shoulder and an old man who is tired of trying throws my previous words back in my face.

"This group is broken."

Mel's POV

I don't mean to toot my own horn but I am pretty proud of my fire. It's the first one I made on my own and I kind of feel like pulling a Tom Hanks in Castaway and yelling "I have made FIRE!". That might be overkill since I used a lighter and not a piece of string and branch or anything but when we would camp daddy was in charge of setting up the camp fire. I was given tent setup while Harmony was on food detail. Which meant she just sat on the cooler and made sure the hotdogs didn't go anywhere.

It's a nice distraction. Sitting in front of it I can almost make-believe I am camping with my family. It's something I do often around the fire, escaping to make-believe. Making s'mores and telling stories are always done around a campfire. It's basically the law. Wishing I had some marshmallows and graham crackers to go with my rapidly shrinking chocolate, I take another bite.

Dale is walking toward me and suddenly the fire reverts back to nothing more than a pretty heat source. I think about pretending to be asleep but I know he saw me sitting here. Plus, his earlier words already made me feel enough like a coward. What he said had stung and I didn't like that he made me feel things that he viewed as wrong. Things that I was taught were wrong and never would have believed myself capable of feeling. Until today.

Without his normal smile or greeting he sits down across from me. He does nothing more than stare at the same flames I am.

The vote didn't go his way.

Unfortunately, I missed the column by Dear Abby on what the proper etiquette is when trying to comfort someone that has failed to save a man's life. For some reason saying, "There is always next time.", just doesn't seem like enough.

I'm saved from coming up with a lame attempt of breaking the ice when he speaks first.

"I want to apologize to you. I had no right in asking you to do what I did. The moment just got away from me and I don't know what I was thinking." My heart breaks when his voice cracks.

I'm still new to this group and the people in it but there is always an air of hope surrounding Dale. The few times I have talked to him, that unexplained sensation of 'things might be alright' fills you when you do. It is gone now. The man across from me is just like everyone else. Beaten down and hopeless. A feeling I can't explain washes over me. It's like I'm witnessing the loss of one of the last good things in the world.

I have barely been keeping myself hanging on by a thread for the last eight weeks and yet I want to comfort this man.

"My father did a sermon once about a man who was walking home from the grocery store late at night and he saw an elderly man being robbed in an alley. The passing man thought about calling the police. He also thought about helping the old man. He even ran several ideas of what he could do through his head, but in the end, he decided to keep walking. When my father asked, who was the bad man in this situation most of his congregation answered with 'the robber'. I guess most people who hear this story would think that the robber was the worse of the two men. I did when I first heard my father tell it. But my dad made me realize we were all wrong when he said, 'Evil is only allowed to be evil because no one stops it'. So, I realized the bad man in my father's story wasn't the one physically hurting another it was the man who witnessed injustice and did nothing." I clear my throat and finally stop watching the fire. Instead I look up and meet Dale's eyes. "You were right Dale. I'm a coward for doing nothing. I should have said something. But you did. You are a good man and you did everything you could to save him. To save us."

For all I know my story is no more than nonsensical rambling but I remember the impact it had on me when I heard my father say it and I want Dale to know what I think of him. I do believe he is a good man. It is so much easier to go with the tide instead of fighting it because no matter how much you fight and no matter how many waves you make it feels pointless at times. But as exhausting as it is, if you don't fight it, eventually you are carried out to sea. He fought. He tried. That is what matters. It's more than I did even after I realized I was going to have a part in killing a man. Because it was easier for me to stay sitting here in front of my fire pretending I was camping instead of facing the problem.

Dale stands up, puts his hat back on his head, and his rifle of his back. Then he looks down at me, the flames from the fire cast shadows on his face that make him look eerily skeletal. "The world has always been a hard place but this new one is not for an old fool like me. I'm too set in my ways but you-" he points at me "-You are young enough to make a difference. Don't let this sickness that has tainted everything change you Mel. You keep that spark that I see when I look at you. Daryl sees it to ya know. It draws people to you and some of those people will try to snuff it out. You just let that fan the flame and you keep us in line because we are going to need you before we set down a path we won't make it back from. I'm going to go for a walk."

Then Dale turns and walks into the field, leaving me stunned and only silence following behind him. It's a silence that seems to materialize so much thicker and heavier than it was when I was sitting by myself. Suddenly feeling a lot lonelier, I watch him until he is nothing more than a slightly lighter black figure against the night.

I go back to watching the fire while I think about what he said to me, trying to forget how I'm sitting here all alone.

I wonder what he meant about the spark. I mean how can I have a spark? Let alone one that draws people. I've always seen myself as ordinary and figured that is how others saw me as well. I don't feel like anything about me is particularly special. It was probably nothing more than an old man just trying to make me feel better.

Daryl's POV

Rick leading the way and Shane behind us I'm stuck pulling the kid like he is a pig to slaughter. Which I guess he sort of is. He is confused, he hasn't been let out of the shed since we brought him here and now he is being escorted at night away from the house. It must become clear because as soon as he sees that we are taking him to the barn he starts to panic.

"Wait. Wait." I ignore him and keep the same pace. The old door groans when we enter. The smell of mildew and hay surround us. Stopping where Rick points in the middle of the barn I move away from the kid.

Other than Randall's begging Shane is the only one to speak. He does so while placing a blindfold over the kids' eyes, "This will all be over soon."

I don't think the blindfold is necessary. It's obvious what we are going to do and Shane's words definitely sealed the deal.

He starts full on crying now.

"Would you like to stand or kneel?"

Come on Rick. The kid can't even see what is about to happen so it doesn't matter and it actually feels inhumane to drag this out any longer. The best thing would have been to take him out into the woods and put a bullet in the back of his head without him knowing. That way he wouldn't be pissing his pants like he is now, knowing that he is about to die.

"No please. Please."

The girl's words from earlier come back to me. She said she had begged him for help and now all of a sudden I don't care about being humane anymore. He can beg all he wants. I end up kicking his injured knee. Forcing him down so that he is kneeling. I do it in hopes to speed up the process. Rick has looked unsure of what we are going to do since we walked into this barn.

"Do you have any final words?"

"Please don't. Please." More begging.

I watch Rick look at Shane who only nods. Then he looks at me. I'm not sure what he is looking for. Maybe he wants me to put a halt on the whole damn thing but that's not happening. If Rick wants to be leader, then he can have at. Being leader includes having a big enough pair of balls to follow through with his own decisions.

Not getting what he was looking for, Rick raises his Python to the kid's head. The sound of the hammer being pulled back is harsh when paired with Randall crying. There is no denying what is going to happen now.

Rick's hand is steady as he keeps it pointed at Randall still kneeling in front of him. His finger moves toward the trigger.

"Do it dad. Shoot him." I turn to see Carl standing in the open doorway of the barn watching as his dad is about to kill someone in cold blood. Talked about fucked up.

Shane grabs Carl by the arm and drags him outside. I watch as Rick keeps the gun pointed until his son leaves, then his stone face starts to crack as he wages a battle with himself. The angel on his shoulder must have won out because he drops the gun back to his side.

"Take him away. Take him away." I grab a visibly relieved Randall and drag him back outside. When I pass Shane, I know he is beyond pissed at this outcome. I can't say that I blame him. To be honest so am I. Not only would it be a hell of a lot easier and safer for all of us just to shoot the kid but maybe if the girl knows he is dead she will finally sleep through a full night.

It takes a while to get the kid back into the shed. I basically had to drag him. His injured leg, near death experience, and blindfold make it impossible for him to keep walking. The walk to the shed gave me some time to think and I don't know what Rick's plan is going to be but I have already made up my mind. I know what I am going to do.

He is still blindfolded. I tie his hands to the beam above him leaving them pulled over his head.

"Please. Just let me go. I won't do anything. I swear."

As much as I want him to beg and realize that no one is going to help him I don't want anyone else made aware of what I am about to do. I think the saying is something along the lines of, "it's easier to ask forgiveness after rather than permission before". So, I shove my rag in his mouth.

I don't find any pleasure in what I am about to do but there is no way in hell I am going to trust him to just forget everything we've done to him so far and happily join our group. Not to mention that the girl will only remember what happened to her and her family every time she sees him. Not going to happen.

According to Shane and Rick, he knows where the farm is. Which means, we can't let him go with the expectation he won't be making a return visit. Either looking for revenge or supplies.

No. This is the only way.

I pull my knife out of its holster.

Randall is still mumbling through the rag. I now know why Rick hesitated. I've hunted my entire life so I know where to hit him to make it as quick and painless as possible but this isn't a deer or a racoon. This is a human being. I know the bleeding-heart vegans would argue that an animal's life has the same value as a human one. Hell, and maybe they do but I still find myself stopping before I push my knife into his beating heart.

I use the back of my hand still holding the knife to wipe the sweat from my upper lip.

I hear Merle's voice in my head say, "Stop being a pussy and just do it already."

Which is exactly what my brother would say. He would have no problem doing this. Actually, he would have already taken care of it. There is no doubt in my mind that the kid wouldn't have made it out of this shed earlier today if Merle had heard his confession about his group and what they've done.

I don't know if I should emulate my brother or try to avoid becoming him.

Not willing to completely lose myself by killing a kid, I take a step back. If Rick has him staying on the farm I'll ask the girl if she wants to go. I have no problem leaving, don't think she would either. We would probably be better off fending for ourselves anyway.

Holstering my knife, I turn toward the door, leaving Randall sobbing behind me. I'm about to lock the door back up when a blood curling scream pierces the night. Without another thought, I run out of the door and follow the noise.

There is no doubt in my mind who that screams belongs to.

I knew I shouldn't have left the god damn tent. The screams aren't coming from our two-person camp. She has enough sense not to wonder off in the middle of the night. That just means that something is wrong, as if the screaming didn't already clue me in. Either way it has me running like the devil himself is behind me.

This is exactly why I didn't want the responsibility of another person. A thousand thoughts are going through my head as I try to make it to her. As much as I want to get to her I'm afraid of what I'll find when I do. She is my responsibility.

Fuck!

The screams get louder then become words, "Help! Help!". Rick and the others are behind me but I ignore their questions of, "What's going on.", and continue to run.

Mel's POV

I jump to my feet and strain my eyes trying to penetrate the night. I know I heard something. It sounded like someone shouting but it was too muffled at the same time. The fog is making it impossible to see anything and really setting the tone for a scene in a horror movie. Still seeing nothing and only thinking about Dale, I run away from my fire and in the direction I last saw him. The urge to make sure he isn't somewhere hurt in the field alone fuels me.

"Dale." I whisper-yell "Are you alright?"

No response. I stop moving and listen. That's when I hear a different sound. One I have heard before, in my nightmares. A noise that sometimes wakes me up at night. My legs start running toward the noise and through the fog, I see a blurry figure kneeling on the ground.

"Thank God." I slow down. Thinking that he must have fallen down and twisted his ankle. I ask, "Are you hurt Dale?"

He doesn't respond and as I keep walking my mind starts to put things together at a rate I can't process. It takes until I am standing about five feet away that I finally realize what I am looking at. A walker is leaning over Dale. A large part of Dales shirt is no longer white instead it is almost black. Blood.

The sound is all I hear now and I know that I was right the first time I heard it. Teeth chewing and eating human flesh is something that will stick with you for a while.

I scream until the sound of Dale being torn apart is drowned out.

The walker is too invested in Dale to pay me any attention but Dale's eyes turn toward me. Pleading. I think I'm still screaming but my hand grabs my knife and for the first time, instead of running away from the dead I start running toward it. I don't want to be the guy who does nothing when someone needs help.

I kick the head of the monster, hoping that it will stumble back so I can hit its eye or go through the ear. It does what I want but it also pulls away with red stringy bits still in its mouth. I ignore it and hope that it will only take me one try because I don't think I have multiple attempts in me. I want to close my eyes but they stay open and I watch as my hand holding the knife buries into the right eye socket.

It stops moving.

I leave my knife forgotten in its head and frantically crawl to Dale. I think I hear voices coming.

"Help! Help!" I scream. I might have been screaming it all along but I can't be certain.

My shaking hands go to Dale's throat trying to cover the gaping wound. They are immediately coated with something hot and sticky.

"You're going to be okay. Just hang on. Just hang on. Hershel! Daryl!"

He grips my wrist. His breathing doesn't sound like breathing. It's another noise that will be forever burned into my nightmares.

Maybe he has asthma? I know as soon as I think it I'm in denial.

The others are almost here. Good. They can help Dale.

Daryl is the first to reach us. Rick is close behind them.

"Help him. He needs help." I don't understand when Rick turns around and puts his hands on his knees. "Why aren't you helping him!"

Everyone else is around us now. Their crying is at least making it harder to hear Dale's struggling breaths.

I look back at Dale and notice the bleeding is slowing down. His jerky movements make it look like he is convulsing.

"He's suffering. Do something." Someone else says and I finally put together that he is slowly drowning on his own blood.

Carol starts to pull me away from Dale and I let her. It's just like Harmony all over again -there is nothing I can do. Dale is going to die.

I am starting to shut down. I watch everything around me with a sort of detachment. I know what is happening but I can only observe. Emotions are no longer in play.

Rick points his gun at Dale's head. I can tell he doesn't want to pull the trigger. His finger touches the trigger but he doesn't put weight behind it. Someone else's hand touches the gun and Rick hands it over, relieved to give the burden to another. Daryl is now holding the gun and he kneels beside Dale.

Our eyes meet for a second but Daryl's face is blank. I look away when he raises the gun to Dale's head again. I don't want to watch. Instead I close my eyes and hope that this is all another nightmare. I have so many that it's possible this is another one.

"Sorry brother." Then a gunshot echoes through the night making me jump.

The numbness starts to wear off. Carol is holding me to her chest, crying into my hair. Through my haze, I realize it is a protective embrace. She is keeping me from seeing the scene that just played out. Unable to deal with this right now, I push away from her and start walking toward the tree line.

Terror, anger, sadness whirl through my mind like the three were the only options on some sick wheel of fortune. I just don't know which one it is going to land on yet so I keep my pace in a direction I'm not familiar with. I just see trees. It's away from what just happened and that's good enough for me.

I finally run out of breath and I'm relieved to find myself standing in the forest. Blackness still surrounds me but the scent of the woods alone has started to calm my breathing. My hands run over my face. When they do, I notice the sticky wetness again. Holding my hands up toward the sky I already know what I am going to see but my stomach finally loses the good fight when I see what the moon reveals. My hands are now the crimson red of blood and I suddenly feel the heat as the blood continues to slowly run down my arm.

Daryl's POV

It all happened so quick. She was on the ground. The desperate scream for help that hadn't stopped since I first heard it continued. The girls' hands covered in blood. Dale lying as still as a statue. Pain obvious in his eyes. A pool of black staining the grass underneath him and staining her jeans.

I hand Rick his gun back. Everyone is either crying, sobbing, or muttering things.

My eyes search for one person and I see Carol holding her. No one has to ask her what happened. It's obvious. I go over to the walker and pull the knife out, wiping the gel like blood off on my pants. Then I kick the limp body out of frustration.

"Mel honey, come back." Carol is calling after the girl who is now headed into the woods. She doesn't listen and keeps her pace.

I nod to Carol, letting her know that I'll follow her. Could do with getting away from the crying myself.

I stay back and watch as she stops and runs her hands over her face. Then I see her turn her head and throw up. Giving her a few minutes to compose herself I watch as she mumbles things to herself while wiping her hands on the grass. I can see the tears from where I am and once again feel like an asshole for invading her private pain.

It isn't until she becomes frantic, trying to wipe the blood off that I step in.

She doesn't even look up when I stand beside her.

"He didn't deserve this." Her voice is broken.

"No."

"He was the good guy."

There is no reason for me to agree with her. Dale was better than most.

"Were you bit?"

"No." she shakes her head "I don't think so."

I'm relieved but she has a lot of blood on her. I'll feel better when I know for certain that none of it belongs to her. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

She doesn't argue. She quickly gets to her feet then follows quietly behind me.

I take her to the pond I found not too long ago. It's on the edge of Hershel's property and out of the way. I reach for my back pocket but remember my rag is still in Randall's mouth. Instead, I take off my outer shirt and dip it in the water. Her hands are shaking as she takes the fabric I hand her. Immediately she starts to scrub at her arms and hands. She is still crying silently. Her tears leaving a white trail through the blood on her face. It doesn't take long for the cloth to turn red.

I take it back from her and do it again until there's no sign of Dale's tragic death left on her.

"I can still feel it. His blood trickling down my arms. I can still feel his fingers digging into my wrist."

I don't know what to say to her and I don't think she is looking for a response. I just wait and let her continue to scrub until she feels like whatever she is feeling is no longer there.